


Catharsis

by liseraptorknight



Series: Catharsis [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends (Dark Horse Comics), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diplomacy, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Zayne is a walking basket case, survivor's guilt, the 'eh' approach to canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liseraptorknight/pseuds/liseraptorknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The peace talks between the Republic and Mandalore have ground to a standstill. Lucien's apology has been released and is causing a sensation on the 24 hour news cycle. Zayne is at the point of breaking. Revan consults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Do not wait for the healing to arrive. It will never come. The holes will never leave or be filled with anything at all. But holes are interesting things.

— Augusten Burroughs

* * *

 

It hadn’t been going well, not since Serroco put in the demand for immediate and alarmingly large amounts of reparations from Mandalore for the virtual destruction of their planet’s surface. Mandalore’s only bargaining chip in the matter was the fact that the Republic’s use of Serroco as a base made it a legitimate military target, to which the Republic cited the Alderaan Treaties Concerning Conduct in Warfare and the Correllian Accords, which criminalized use of thermonuclear orbital bombardment resulting in the scale of damage seen on Serroco. Mandalore said they never signed the treaties or the accords.

For Zayne and other ambassadors present, the disagreement meant negotiations on hold and sent thousands of archivists scrambling through old records. Old records Zayne was attempting to read. His mind kept drifting, turning things over and over in his head: the comm from Lucien, the oddities in a few records, the almost palpable tension whenever he left his rooms.

Reaching out into the force felt like filling his head with comm static, hundreds of distorted voices and noise, noise, noise repeating itself over and over again. He ended up curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor shivering and vomiting.

It had never been like this, Zayne’s connection to the Force. It used to be tenuous, like holding onto treads wrapped around his fingers and everything else, if he pulled there would be consequences he could never anticipate. Then, for a while, it was like standing in a river with the current swirling around his waist cool and inviting. Now, even touching it felt sick and wrong. It wasn’t a part of him anymore.

His comm beeped, then went to voicemail. “Hi. You’ve reached the personal comm of Zayne Carrick. He’s probably asleep right now, please leave your message after the beep.”

 _Beep_.

“For the love of the Force Zayne, you haven’t left your rooms for three days for anything besides official business,” said Revan’s voice. “If I didn’t see food delivery droids I’d be more concerned than I already am.”

Zayne groaned and grabbed the comm off the coffee table, which like everything else in the suite was made out of real wood instead of synthetics. “Hey Revan, I’m reviewing the Corellian Accords,” he mumbled into the device.

“I thought that’s why you’ve got staff,” said Revan after a long pause.

“Um…”

“Kriffing Force Zayne, you don’t have one!” The man exclaimed, to the sound of a head hitting a table, hard. “You’re the only member of the diplomatic team without one. How the kriff are you functioning.”

“Caf,” Zayne replied. “Lots of it. Also Paava.”

“You realize Pavaa has an actual job, right?”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do have a staff; they’re just busy with other stuff, like mineral resources and rights, plus market for said resources. I need to assure Serroco that-“

“I sense this isn’t your only problem,” said Revan calmly. “You sound about one more bad day from having a meltdown.”

“It’s nothing,” said Zayne, more to himself than the man on the other end of the line. “Just a hyperspace hangover and some normal anxiety. We’re this close to closing this whole thing up or this close to war, again.”

“It’s Lucien isn’t it,” said Revan.

“No it’s not.” Zayne made a disgusted face.

“Carth told me about the comm,” said Revan. “He sent it on to the proper authorities as well.”

“Wait, what?” Zayne sat up straight.

“Pavaa sent out his purported apology which led to its public release which led to the full release of the recording, which in turn blew the whole thing up again.”

“Fuck,” said Zayne, slumping back down against a chair.

“I can’t debate you there. Malak wonders what side us, the Revanchists, will be taking.” Revan let a deep breath out of his nose. “One faction on the council wants to basically flay him alive or stick him in front of a Republic firing squad. The other says let him be, he’s apparently suffered enough. The other faction says officially strip him of his titles and let him know the fact.”

“What do you think?”

“I say leave him to his own reflections. I also say strip him of his titles and strike his name from the tally of Jedi, but that’s besides the point. Lucien really doesn’t have anything anymore. The family name is besmirched. His decisions led to the deaths of those closest to him. He is blind and alone on a moon save for a few acolytes.”

“Precisely,” Zayne cut in. “I just can’t use the Force now or hear his name without feeling sick.”

“The Force,” Revan began. “Is a part of you, as much as your nose is or your ears or your kidneys. There isn’t a way to excise it, but you can excise what he taught you.”

“He taught me a lot of useful things,” said Zayne. “Wait, he didn’t. I learned meditation from the circle on Dantoonie and how to sense through the Force and telekinesis. He taught me lightsaber combat, and how I was a failure with a poor connection to the Force who’d be booted if I didn’t suck it up and fit in with his impossible and frankly unrealistic standards.”

“Well, you’re certainly more important that your average Jedi, Zayne. Ambassador to Mandalore.”

“I don’t feel like it,” said Zayne, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like I spent the what, the entire day before the talks puking all over the bathroom.”

“What the kriff!” Revan exclaimed. “Seriously Carrick, what the kriff?”

“I’m fine now,” he said. “Just strung out and tired.”

“Take a kriffing vacation, Zayne,” Revan groaned. “Like when this round of talks ends, take a vacation somewhere. Like Mon Calarmi or Alderaan or some other really fancy resort and just relax.”

“I tried that,” Zayne snapped. “I just felt worse, not better.”

“So you need something to throw yourself behind and work so you don’t get stuck in your brain static?”

“Yeah. I should just let this all go but I really, really can’t. Not with it blowing up like this.”

“Zayne,” Revan said, calmly. “I know you can’t right now, but you’re an ambassador. Letting go isn’t for you, it’s for them. What they- he did won’t go away. Maybe someday you’ll stop hurting and you can really look back, but right now, let it go and do what you gotta do to let it go. Go for a walk. Work. Stab a bunch of training droids. Just, just don’t let it fester.”

“Can I meet you at that waterfront place, the one by the river restoration promenade thing with all the plants and the shops and the parks and what not?”

“Tonight?” Revan sounded surprised. “I’d love to, but I’ve got a date with Carth. Some kind of concert on the beach.”

“No,” said Zayne slowly. “Tomorrow morning. I just got a comm telling me that talks are suspended for the next three cycles. Dammit. Not suspended, adjourning. Stress and all that plus it gives both sides time to think on their arguments. I’ve got a psych eval meeting tomorrow afternoon and then the day after a meeting with the Republic staffers and what not to discuss-“

“Whoa, Zayne. Breathe. That’s better. I’d love to,” said Revan.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow right?”

_Beep._

Zayne tossed his comm onto an armchair and flopped back on the floor. He lay there for a long while staring up at the ceiling until the sun dipped below the horizon and the lights came on. The Force murmured quietly in his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

 Something in me will save me from utter ruin no matter what comes.

~Tennessee Williams, from  _Notebooks_

* * *

 

Zayne usually kept the news on while he worked, a low drone of chatter and noise in the background, just enough to keep his mind busy if it wandered off. Tonight, he switched the channel to something else, a documentary about nekkar cats and the illegal trafficking thereof and even then, it was only half watched as he read through yet another page of treaty documents appending notes and questions to it.

He switched back to the news.

The projection showed a compound within the middle of a huge field of grass, or grain. It was impossibly to tell at the resolution which was clearly taken from a republic soldier’s helmet camera. Black smoke billowed up from one end of the compound as a gunship circled overhead. It was accompanied by indistinct radio chatter fading back into a voiceover. “It has been seventy-two hours into a standoff between Republic forces and a fringe group of former jedi under the leadership of Lucien Draay, a man thought to be dead for the past five years. All attempts at negotiation broke down after a mistaken order fired concussion grenades into the compound, igniting several structures.”

The footage switched to a reporter talking into her microphone. “A warrant has been issued for Lucien Draay following the public release of an apology from the man himself addressed towards the parents and remaining families of the Taris Four. The message was received by a Republic cruiser bound for the ongoing negotiations between the Republic and Mandalore. I’m Jane Brurusko of Coruscant Action News, we will have more on this situation as it develops.”

Zayne switched off the holo and picked up his comm.

“You’ve reached the voicemail inbox of Revan, leave a message after the tone,” said a modulated voice.

_Beep._

“Yeah, about tomorrow’s meeting,” said Zayne, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I can make it. I’ve probably got a press conference coming up. You were right about this whole thing blowing up like it has”

The comm rang, it was the Alderaan senator, who technically lead the whole treaty business on the Republic side of things. “I am sorry to bother you Zayne,” he said as though he were afraid. “You probably saw the news right now and well, what more can be said. The Senate wishes to know if you will testify if Lucien Draay goes to trial.”

“Yes,” said Zayne. “I will testify if Draay goes to trial.” _Testifying is my duty_ , he added silently.

“That is good to hear. It cannot have been easy on you, all this,” said the Senator quietly.

Zayne could almost see his face, all fatherly and concerned. It made his blood boil slightly. “I have a duty,” he replied.

“Take care ambassador, the press will want statements in the morning. “The conference begins at six o’ clock local time- sharp,” he said before the line went silent.

His comm rang again, this time it was Revan. Music pulsed in the background along with voices screaming along to the lyrics of a song. “Got your message,” Revan said, loudly over the noise. “Do you want to meet in the afternoon? Or would lunch work.”

“Lunch,” said Zayne stiffly.

“I’d stay on the line longer, but I’m in the stall of a rather grimy bathroom and I can feel Carth starting to worry.”

“Just call me in the morning,” Zayne replied. “I’m not gonna make much sense right now. My thoughts are… everywhere. Oh- and any ideas on what to day for the press.”

“Just tell them the truth,” said Revan over an ever louder baseline somewhere outside. “Tell them that Lucien was a terrible person built on a framework of self-righteousness and possibility.”

“So lunch?”

“Same place, the waterfront gentrified area?” asked Revan.

 “Yeah. And have a great night- both of you,” said Zayne wearily, before hanging up.

He flopped onto the sofa listening to the soft rattle of the air conditioner and the way it filled the gauzy curtains like wind in the sails of a ship. The way traffic crisscrossed overhead and below. The dark blue of the sky just after the sun sets and before the stars come out.

Zayne half-wished things were back the way they were and he could just go out into the parts of town where the glamor and the niceness were filed off. He missed, or at least felt a deep nostalgia for the tightly wound maze of narrow streets at the base of the city. The haze of neon lights blinking brightly against small businesses and apartments. The steady drip of water and the crowded footpaths.  The low pulse of music settling in his bones and all the smells of food cooking in vendor’s cart and the stale air and the anonymity.

He didn’t miss seeing the sky as a narrow strip of traffic and light far overhead, but there was something about that little line of sky far above his head that made it feel sacred. It was something to strive for, he could imagine himself flying up out towards it like a bird and into infinity. Now, he could see the sky all the way to where it met the ocean just beyond the city and to where it disappeared behind the mountains and it felt smaller.


	3. Chapter 3

"Can you not sometimes feel how all pasts  
grow light, when you’ve lived a while,  
how they gently prepare you for amazement,  
companion each feeling with images,—"

— **Rainer Maria Rilke** , from “The Singer Sings Before a Child of Princes”, in _The Book of Images_ , trans. Edward Snow (North Point Press, 1991)

* * *

 

“How’d the press conference go?” asked Revan, spreading cream cheese over a slightly over-toasted (and overpriced) bagel.

“You were there,” said Zayne around a sip of tea. “I mean, even you could probably tell it was choreographed to death and then reanimated and choreographed to death again and-“

“Yeah, I get it.” Revan put down his knife. “I’m just wondering how you’re holding up. You look frazzled.”

“I kinda- no- definitely am more than a little frazzled. I dunno, that’s just it. I dunno.” Zayne shrugged and tossed a piece of toast into the river which flowed by the patio and past the parks, shops, and restaurants.

Entry signs touted the several miles of river leading down to the ocean as “The Galaxy’s Most successful urban reclamation project”. It wasn’t natural and probably just as choreographed as a press conference, right down to the specific kinds and numbers of organisms in certain areas. Here, a swarm of bright iridescent fish snatched down the crumbs to a chorus of “oohs” from nearby diners. The water smelled faintly of chlorine, like a swimming pool.

“Well,” said Revan, putting his feet up onto the table. “At least you probably won’t have to deal with another one until they actually bring him to trial.”

“This is the fourth day of a standoff between him and the Republic. It’s kinda out of character for him.” Zayne picked up another bit of toast and flicked it over the railing.

“He never handled the unexpected very well,” Revan carefully replied. “I mean, look at the whole Taris fiasco. Actually, scratch that- he handles the unexpected quite well, he just doesn’t factor kindness into his calculations. I mean, after the whole Taris thing blew up, everyone was reading your file, trying to figure out what made you snap. Malak and me personally thought Lucien must have pushed something too hard, that it wasn’t an intrinsic darkness to you, just possible abuse long hidden. I mean, your file says ‘incredibly empathetic’ and ‘forms strong bonds with others’.”

“So Lucien’s mistake was failing to realize that I had empathy?” Zayne peered curiously at Revan.

“Precisely. And couple that with a con man teaching you how to read people and, well, the Republic has a new ambassador to Mandalore and we might avert another major war.” 

Zayne poured sugar into his coffee, stirring it slowly with his spoon. “So I could technically argue that Lucien is a psychopath?”

“Sociopath more like. Psychopath implies a level of psychosis, but I’m no expert,” said Revan with a slight roll of his shoulders. “I highly doubt that he’s actually one, but he certainly picked up the traits during his training and well, it’s a highly researched fact that people with sociopathic tendencies do gravitate towards business- especially management.”

“I never really considered him to be a sociopath, but looking back, he’s got the disturbing lack of remorse and the whole lying thing. A normal person would end up like Rana Tey and the others, kind of- definitely messed up.”

A billboard across the river flashed an ad for wrinkle-removal cream. The lunch crowds began to fill the footpaths heading towards public transport stations. The roar of overhead traffic intensified. Zayne stared off at the water. Revan scrapped the burned bits off his other bagel slice.

“You know, I used to fantasize about killing him for a while- strangle him with my bare hands. Beat him to death with a rusty pipe. Slicing off his head. Used to fantasize about him dying a lot too. Sucked out an airlock. Knife from some back alley hood buried in his back. A traffic accident. There was this one time I could have let him die. Force, I could have killed him and no one would have been the wiser, but I didn’t. Maybe it would have changed things for the better, maybe it would have made it worse. I dunno.” Zayne shrugged. “I mean- you could say he deserved it.”

“I don’t think you’re weak for letting him live that one time,” said Revan, declining to inquire further. “I think- given the circumstances, wanting to see him die was perfectly reasonable." 

“My conscience wouldn’t have let me rest if I’d left him to die or if I’d killed him.” Zayne dragged a piece of toast through the egg yolks on his plate. “Guess I’m that kind of dumb.”

 “Zayne.” Revan paused and took a deep breath. “You aren’t dumb; your line of work alone proves that.”

Zayne took a bite of his toast. “This is pretty good, all things considered. Still, I’m waiting for the rug to get yanked out from under me, again. Stuff’s going ‘too good’ as Gryph says. It’s when things are too good that bad things happen.”

“Might as well enjoy it,” said Revan, taking his feet off the table. “Before it fades.”

“It is not up to me,” said Zayne with a surprising amount of venom in his voice. “It wasn’t up to me then to decide who lived and who died. I wasn’t a judge or a jedi, just a scared kid who watched a planet die. I had enough of seeing people die and even him I- kriff!”

Revan squeezed Zayne’s hand and leaned across the table. “Whatever happens to him now isn’t your responsibility. It’s all on him this time. He will receive what is appropriate to his crimes or he ends up getting himself killed at the hands of the Republic military.”

“I feel like this is vengeance not justice. He lost his eyes and his entire family and basically everything. I’ve lost, but I’ve got it back and then some.”

“It’s consequences, Zayne,” said Revan. “He’s gotta deal with it like everyone else in the universe.”  
Zayne made noise, something between a laugh and a sob. “The worst part is he thought he was right, right up until the bombardment started hitting Coruscant. Right up until over a hundred members of the order died on his estate’s landing pad.”

“Take a deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

“I’m fine,” said Zayne slowly. “I’m fine. I guess I’m fine now.”

“That’s good.” Revan spread the rest of the cream cheese on his bagel. 

Zayne took another bite of toast after dunking it into the egg yolks on his plate. “Well, I’d better be off, we’re reconvening earlier, it would seem that Serocco is now amenable to Mandalore’s offer.”

“That’s good news,” said Revan. “It means we can expect an actual treaty by the end of this standard year, or Force willing, this meeting.”

Zayne waved from the entrance. “If we do, I’ll see you on Alderaan.”


	4. Chapter 4

I go where I love and where I am loved,

into the snow;

 

I go to the things I love

with no thought of duty or pity

\- H.D. _The Flowering of the Rod_

* * *

 

Zayne called Jarael the moment he left the restaurant. He sat down on a bench in a little strip of park in the shade of a flood wall beneath a tree scattering blue flower petals over the recycled plastic walkway and into the water, which from his angle looked dyed a rather artificial shade of turquoise. The trash can by the stairs beeped, “Thank you,” in binary as a passerby stuffed a paper bag of half-eaten fast food inside.

She did not answer and the comm went to voicemail; default voice stating “Please leave your message after the tone.”

“Hey,” Zayne began, running his free hand through his hair. It caught on a few unruly curls his brush didn’t smooth away that morning. “Um, by the time you get this, you’ll probably know that the treaty went through. We’re having the whole signing ceremony here, not on Alderaan. Something’s made the Mandalorians really jumpy. I just found out in my messages, so yeah. It’s next week, hopefully. Rumor has it that they got some kind of assassination threat from some faction, hence the reluctance to travel. I mean, we’re in Republic space, but shit happens. I’m still meeting you on Alderaan though.”

Zayne paused and took a deep breath. For the past two standard months, their communication slowed down to a trickle, not that they spoke together much in the first place. Jarael and he drifted around their shared apartment on Dantoonie like a pair of stars in a binary system. They never really needed words to know what the other was thinking or feeling. They left for work or for whatever needed doing with only a shared glance. She read the slope of his shoulders just as plainly as the messages which now sporadically filled her inbox.

“So,” he continued. “You probably heard all about Lucien again, yeah? And that you’ll probably be called to testify at his trial, assuming that he doesn’t get a bomb or a plasma bolt dropped on him. I kinda want that to happen, at least it’ll be over quickly for him and I won’t have to, well, relive that whole… _thing_ all over again and neither will you or anyone. Feel like I’m dancing around this Jarael, like I don’t talk about it to anyone besides the people involved. Talking with my shrink- She’s gotta haul it out syllable by syllable. It’s like the opposite of being and eyewitness, the more people I talk to about it, the less real it becomes. I mean for the love of the Force, she primarily deals with people who are depressed because it’s what happens in their brain chemistry for no reason. I feel like I’m taking her time away and- never mind. Feel real kriffing dumb right now. Anyways, I hope you’re ok. I’m going to help you re-tile the bathroom after we get back from Alderaan. Whoever thought hutt-puke green tiles looked good ought to have their eyes checked. I dunno, which ones did you want? The multi-colored floral ones from that one traditional place or the plain blue and white ones? Oh yeah, and I’ll repaint the cabinets from that yellow to the dark green we agreed on. Also, do you want grandma’s old plates or should we let Margje have them? Wait no- we’re taking them, and getting her that really nice set in the thrift shop for her wedding. So, that’s pretty much it. Love you Jarael.”

The comm beeped as he turned it off and slipped it into his pocket.

Jarael’s response came in the wee hours of the morning, written as a bulleted list of responses. Her typed comms always came across as terse, as though uploaded by someone with very little time on their hands. Anyone other than Zayne would have thought she was brushing them off or didn’t care.

It read _: Never mind Alderaan. I’d rather you came home. We can finish fixing up the condo and you take a break. Condo. Zayne it’s a condo. We bought it. We own it and we can do whatever we want with it. Lucien can go fuck himself. I’m testifying, but I want him to get hit in a damn bombardment and spare everyone else the headache. He’s too fond of being in the center of things, like momma’s boy screaming for attention. Don’t stop therapy. Multi-colored floral. Not to sure about the green. Need to look through more paint samples. The green only matches the appliances we’re getting rid of. The plates are more sentimental to Margje than you. She did spend all of her summers with your grandmother. You barely knew her- the grandmother. Take it easy, for kriff’s sake._

Zayne typed up a reply over breakfast which simply read: _What about that turquoise you liked? It’ll match the stainless durasteel. Yeah, let Margje have it. She won’t be mad if we take it, but she’d appreciate them more than we would. Induction stove top: yes or no._

Her reply came immediately. _Yes. We don’t need a fuel-burner if we have the grill out on the terrace. Promise I won’t accidentally barbecue the hanging basket plants again._

He typed back. _I was an idiot for putting them there._

 _Don’t be too hard on yourself._ She wrote.

 _Oh, Jarael, I won’t be heading to Alderaan, I think I’ll take your advice and head straight home._ Zayne put down his comm and took a deep breath.

The comm beeped and flashed. _When do you get back?_

 _Two weeks, I’ll make sure to take a transport that arrives in the evening so I can sleep it off._ He could feel the lag as his fingers raced over the tiny holographic keyboard.

_O.K. See you then. :^) <3_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t find any names for Zayne’s siblings, but Zayne is a Boer (South Afrian Dutch) name, so I figured his sisters would have names in the same line. Canon mentions he has four of them. Their (non-canonical) names, in order of age are: Margje, Anke, Wilhelmina, and Neske.


End file.
